Crimson Grin
by gotosleeplove
Summary: Jovey is a misunderstood artist, who typically keeps to herself. What will happen when she draws the attention of the Bloody Painter? Will he make her another one of his victims, or with something else blossom instead?
1. Chapter 1

Crimson Grin

I stared down at the grotesque drawing, concentrating as I retraced the outline of the misshapen skull. I was unaware of my environment; the small, cramped classroom that was filled to the brim with snobby, rude individuals. That of course, includes the teacher as well. My headphones were firmly placed in my ears, blocking out her nasally voice completely.

The drawing was almost finished, the only things being left was shading and details. That, of course, was the fun part. I began to sketch tiny, black spiders that fled from the skulls eye sockets, along with small fractures throughout the drawing. Suddenly, my headphones were viciously yanked from my earlobes, a dull ringing and slight sting being left behind.

My dark brown eyes flew up to the teacher, an exasperated expression pulling across my face. I was not in the mood for this today. The older woman's eyes were like daggers as she accusingly looked down at me, her aged face filled with disgust. I couldn't help but grin slightly as the woman, knowing how much I irritated her.

"Jovey, pay attention," her higher pitched, nasal voice squeaked. I rolled my eyes, wishing more than anything that I wouldn't have to hear that voice again.

I simply nodded as a reply, not wanting to communicate with the woman any longer. She huffed, stalking back over to her desk, her greying hair bobbing as she did. I sighed, putting one of my headphones back in my ear. I looked back down at my drawing, prepared to start once more. That's when the paper was snatched directly off of my desk. The bones in my knuckles popped one by one as I clenched up my fist, my head snapping over to the culprit.

Of course, the little gang of preps that was scattered around the school. And of course, refusing to be just like them, I was the victim of their abuse. Well, some of the time. Usually they are too terrified to approach, and I liked it that way. But apparently it wasn't going to be like that today. Repulsive looks decorated each of their faces as they took in my drawing, a satisfied smirk stretching across my lips.

"Freak," one of them mumbled, twisting around in their seat, avoiding my glare.

"Psycho," Jamie, a tiny blonde girl spat, her fake eyelashes covering most of her eyes as she tried to narrow them at me.

I tried to muffle my laugh, trying to not cause anymore controversy. Instead, I reached for my drawing, gripping the corner of it. I tugged on it slightly, the jock, Brady, who was holding it smirking, showing he had no intention on letting it go. Fabulous. It was going to be one of those days after all.

"I don't have time for this bullshit," I growled, pulling on it harsher than before.

"Very true. The bells about to ring, guess I can't have too much fun," he snickered, ripping the paper back, causing it to rip in half.

My eyes widened at the sight, the preps laughing their asses off. I was gripping one corner of the sheet of paper, and he was crumpling up the other. No good bastards… at least it was around time to leave. As if on cue, the bell rung, causing everyone to jump up out of their seat.

"Later loser," the jock snickered, turning away. "Oh, and you can keep this," he added, tossing the wadded up ball that used to be my drawing at me.

"No good pricks," I spat under my breath, standing beside my desk.

I put the other headphone in my ear, allowing the familiar screams of my bands to soothe away the anger. It always has. I shoved my phone in my pocket, putting my books and sketchpad into my bag. I then proceeded to exit from the room, discarding the crumpled remains of the drawing into the trash bin.

I kept to the side of the hall as everyone hastily sped around me, trying to leave as soon as they possibly could. I couldn't blame them, they probably had lots to do. I, however, had nothing to do but draw. Being friendless at this school was both good and bad. Good, because I don't have to suffer through a conversation about glitter and sparkly things with a girl. Or a conversation about football or perverted shit from the guys. Bad, however, because I was the subject of ridicule, all because I'm different.

My dyed dark red hair made me different, along with the black bandana that held it back. The fifteen piercings on my ears, and one on my lip and side of my nose made me different. The dark clothes and band tees made me different. The dozens of bracelets on each arm made me different. But frankly, I didn't give a damn. I liked how I was. I knew there was others out there like me. But at this school, I was literally the only one. Not the only one that was alone, by any means. But the only dark person for sure.

I walked along the sidewalk, making my way home. It was relatively cold, and it appeared as though it was about to rain. The sky was turning a dark grey as the clouds continued to grow larger. Good thing I didn't live that far away. Just as it began to drizzle, I entered my home, letting out a sigh of relief. I slung my bag to the ground, a loud thump echoing throughout the room.

No one was at home, as usual. Mom out working, dad probably out getting drunk again. That'd be no shocker at all. I walked to my room, shutting the door behind me. My music was still playing, offering some company in this quiet, vacant house. Now was the time for my real art work. I skipped across the room, smiling as I gathered my painting supplies. Half of my room looked like an art studio; canvases lining the walls, sketchbooks, markers, charcoal, pencils and other materials littered around. The other half was a simple bed and dresser, with posters lining the wall.

I sat down at the small seat by the window, setting up a new canvas and adding small amounts of different paint colors on a plate for me to use. I picked up a paint brush, beginning to add color to the blank canvas. It was the same thing I had started in class, and I intended on finishing it this time. I started on the skull once more, then proceeded with all of the details as before.

Hours have passed, the most intricate drawing formed onto the canvas. The only colors consisted of black, white, grey and red. Cracks decorated the skull, along with the spiders that were once again scattering down. Blood dripped down in different places adding a small bit of brighter color in the painting. My eyes were drooping as I yawned. Rain was slightly heavy outside, the soft sound of it being the only thing I heard as I pulled my head phones out of my ears.

I gazed out the window, seeing my darkened yard. The trees were swaying in the wind, the only light being offered by the streetlamp a good distance away. My eyes then fell upon a figure standing next to the road, the streetlamp offering some light to fall upon their features. It was a boy, I guessed. He was wearing a long, dark jacket. The way the light reflected off of it, it appeared to be a dark blue color. His pants were black, along with his shoes. His hair was a tousled, shaggy black. But the most prominent thing that I noticed was the white mask that covered his face. The eyes were dark, and a long red smile was sticking out against the white of his mask.

My eyes widened as I stared at the figure, my heart picking up its pace in my chest. The figure was just standing there, his hands shoved in his pockets. Without another thought, I ran out of my room and into the living room. I crept to the window, hesitantly peeking out of the blinds. My heart dropped when I saw that the figure was now gone. I gulped, backing away. Well, that isn't fucking creepy at all. I'm just going to go back to my room, close the drapes so that creeper can't see into my room, and try to get some sleep. I walked back to the room, and over to the window. I reached over to the side, unhooking the black drape to have it swing over the window. But I couldn't help but notice something before I did. The window was fogged up at the center.

And in the middle of the fogged up section was a smiley face that was drawn on, just like the figure's mask.

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

My eyes were glued to the smiley face that was drawn onto the window, unable to help the shiver of fear that ran down my spine. Lightening flashed, causing me to jump and my heart to accelerate. This wasn't good... Quickly, I yanked the black drape forward, blocking the window. A false sense of safety washed over me as I let out a gust of air. Well, that just wasn't disturbing at all. I walked over to my bed, deciding to keep the lamp on for the night. That little bit of false security was enough to allow me to go to sleep, at least I hoped it would.

I quickly changed into a black tank top and some shorts after taking the bandana out of my hair. My eyes scanned the room as thunder roared outside, goosebumps flowing up my arms and legs. I felt as though I was being watched, but of course, wouldn't anyone after seeing that? Surely there isn't anyone in here. Shaking my head, I pulled back the silver sheets on my bed, feeling the crisp, cold blankets fall onto my legs. Unlike all other nights, I wasn't going to stick one of my legs out from underneath the covers. I would suffer the heat later in the night... Finally, I managed to drift to sleep.

I awoke in the morning, the previous thoughts of yesterday night flooding into my mind. I shook my head, my brown eyes seeking throughout the room to see if the smiley face masked man was anywhere in sight. Of course, there turned out to be nothing. I grunted, hauling myself up out of bed, walking into my bathroom. I took a quick shower, noticing that I needed to dye my hair again soon; the roots were starting to fade. The crimson red color was turning pink, which I despised. Once done, I slipped on a Famous Last Words band tee, and some ripped up jeans. It still seemed to be quite chilly out today, so my leather jacket could be quite useful as well. I shrugged it on, after pulling on my combat boots. I decided to leave my hair down today, without a bandana. Didn't want to over use it...

Letting out a sigh, I picked up my bag, slinging it over one shoulder. I checked it quickly, to make sure my sketchbook was still safely inside. It would be quite a shame if it got into the wrong hands... Hell, people thought I was crazy enough anyways. That thought alone brought a huge smile to my face. I walked out the house, noticing mom was still at work. Dad was snoring in his room, probably going to have a major hangover when he woke up. That wasn't something I was going to look forward to...

I stepped out into the humid, dreary world, making my way down the sidewalk as I do every morning. Clouds covered the sky, as they did yesterday. But the rain would not begin until later. I would probably have to walk home in it... but I didn't mind too much. Finally, I approached the school. The large grey building was surrounded by a fence; the grass lightening into a bitter color due to neglect. This hell hole looked more like a prison, in my opinion. I walked forward, keeping my eyes up as I went. Although, I avoided meeting anyone's glance. Continuing forward, I walked to my first class, slumping down into my seat. I pulled my headphones out, prepared to drown out the world with screams.

The day continued on as every other, until I walked into my final class. The one I usually would draw in, continuously. I sat down, sighing as I saw all the other preppy teenagers file into the room, sitting down while gossiping to each other. I pulled out my sketchbook, smiling as I flipped through the pages. I stopped at a blank one, pulling out my pencil. The tip was sharp and pointed, just aching for me to begin. Hmm... what should I draw today? Thoughts flipped through my mind about the previous night, and just like that, my hand was flying. I turned up the music, blocking everything away as I concentrated. The shape of a body took form on the page. A long jacket, shaded a tad lighter than black. Black pants, black shoes. I shaped the head, following by a tousled mess of hair. Finally, the detail of the mask. Those dark eyes, and the crimson grin that pulled across the bottom half of the mask.

I smiled, slightly, while staring at this. Sure, this scared the hell out of me. But as terrifying as the situation was, I couldn't help but find it so intriguing. I cocked my head, staring back at the figure on my page. I let out a sigh, staring out the window I sat next to. It was open, the cool air flowing into the room. The wind gust, blowing the leaves on the trees back, signaling to me that yet another storm was on its way. That's when my eyes locked onto something in the distance. There, between the trees, stood the figure that laid on my sketchpad. That man, with the red smile... it dripped around the edges, looking like blood. I also noticed a bright yellow circle on his jacket. It laid on his collar, looking like a pin. Looking closer, there appeared to be a smiley face on it. I also noticed what looked to be a green notebook, or folder that laid in his hand. But who knows what lies within those pockets on his jacket. A knife, gun, any kind of weapon. My thoughts were scrambled as the paper was ripped from my sketchbook, the jock from yesterday, Brady, gripping it between his fingers. I pulled my headphones out, a sigh tumbling from my mouth.

"Let's see what the freak drew today," he snickered, holding it up for everyone to see. The teacher babbled on, not seeming to care. His eyes widened, his mouth scrunching up in distaste. "What the hell is this?" he demanded, pointing at the picture.

"Why do you care," I growled, reaching for it back.

"I'm just trying to figure out what goes through your demented mind," he smirked, evilly, holding it just out of arms reach.

"My 'demented mind' is none of your concern," I spat.

"You need to get a life," he grumbled, crumpling the paper once more. Jamie snickered next to him, her manicured fingernails glistening as she covered her mouth with her hand. "Be normal and get some friends, if that is even possible."

"I prefer my own company," I murmured, a sting in my heart at the sight of yet another crumpled piece of artwork.

"No wonder you're an outcast," he sneered. "Just go kill yourself. Do us all that favor."

"Perhaps you need to take your own advice," I snarled, cracking my knuckles. I didn't need to go to detention again. But I really wanted to punch him in the nose.

His eyes narrowed, his mouth setting in a hard line. His hand flicked forward, the crumpled ball soaring out the window. "If that were the case, why is it that you are the unwanted one? The outcast, the freak?"

"Don't even bother with her, Brady," Jamie growled, rolling her eyes. "It's not even worth your time."

Brady shrugged, agreeing with her. I turned, putting my headphones in. Only ten more minutes until I was out of here. Just ten... I looked back out the window, to see the figure was now gone. Damn it! Those fuckers distracted me! Rain started to drizzle, and I knew that the drawing was bound to be soaked by the time I got out there to retrieve it. The rain continued to pick up its pace, up until the bell. I exited the classroom, walking down the halls to the door. The rain was plummeting down, echoing throughout the building. I walked out to see a downpour, a sour look pulling across my face.

I took off into a sprint, racing home as I became soaked instantly. I had to continuously brush my hair out of my eyes, as it stuck to my face. I kept my bag tight against me, keeping it closed to refrain from further damage to my sketchbook. I continued to race along, nearly tripping at the curb. Finally, I arrived home, bustling through the door. My breaths were heavy as my eyes scoped around, seeing no one was home once more. Not quite the shocker. I sat my bag down as droplets of water continued to streak down my skin. Quickly, I pulled my belongings out of the backpack, laying them on the table so the bag could dry. I walked to my room, grabbing a change of clothes before going into the bathroom. I quickly ringed out my hair with a towel, then pulled it up into a messy ponytail. I then changed clothes, hanging up the soaking shirt and jeans on the edge of the shower. The jacket was tossed to the chair beside my bed, along with my boots that rested on the floor.

I fell back onto the bed, exhausted. Today was just like every other, except for the figure of that same man staring at me from the window. I pursed my lips, walking over to my window. The black drape was still covering it, like before. I slowly pulled it back, peeking outside. Nothing was there. Just the rain and wind as it took over. I let the drape swing back into place, turning to go back to my bed. That's when I saw something. It was clipped onto my canvas, a piece of paper that seemed to have been crumpled at one point, but smoothed out. I approached it, my heart stopping within my chest.

It was my drawing of the figure. The only difference, was a thin streak of read that was drawn on, over his smile. My shaking hand reached out, sliding it out from under the clip. I flipped it over, seeing there was no note of any source on the paper. It was just my drawing, with a tinge of color added to the smile. Nerves flipped in my stomach, as I thought about this. The figure was standing out the window while I drew this. He picked it up, without my notice. And somehow managed to slip into my house and post it onto my canvas after adding his little detail. What was the purpose? To scare the living daylights out of me? Or something else? All I knew now, was that I wasn't even safe within my own house anymore. This person just made it clear that he was watching me, and was easily able to slip into my house, unnoticed.

Such comforting thoughts.

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	3. Chapter 3

I sat, staring at the drawing, perplexed. I didn't know what to do... Should I just brush it off? Call the police? They would probably say I'm crazy. I guess that idea was out... I sat down in front of the canvas, wondering if some painting would help. I pulled out a plate, beginning to add drops of each color on. It appeared I was out of white... and red. I scowled, remembering all the red paint I used on the skull painting. Well, two out of the four colors I mostly use are gone. And I needed white to make the third. I suppose blue wouldn't be that bad. And brown... White could just be the unpainted part of the canvas. I nodded to myself, as I began to paint the picture of the masked man. His black pants and shoes. The blue jacket. The dark eyes on the white mask. Tufts of brown hair ruffled on top of his head, slightly falling into the mask. The green notebook that laid in his hands. I even used a tinge of yellow for his pin, adding a smiley face onto it. The only thing that was missing... was his smile.

I pursed my lips, sighing. It just so figured that I forgot the most important part consisted of red. I scowled, making a mental note to get some more on the weekend. Then, I could finish that up... Unless the masked man got to me first. A shiver involuntarily made its way up my spine, my lips a solid line. I was unnerved, to an extent. Then again, my curiosity was stronger. I sighed, standing up and throwing off my stained apron that I wore when I painted. The old red paint splatters on it looked a bit like blood splatters. I chuckled to myself, throwing it onto the chair. I quickly took a shower, changing into a tank top and shorts like I do each night. When I exited the bathroom, I heard the sound of the front door opening, then slamming shut as the person entered. The sound of my fathers boots echoed on the floor as he walked down the hall, approaching my room. Quickly, I threw my door shut, locking it. No, not today. I didn't need this. As fast as I could, I flipped the light off, slipping into bed. A rough pounding on my door caused my heart to flip within my chest.

"Jovey! Unlock this door," my fathers voice shouted, sounding somewhat slurred.

I remained where I was, looking over only to see the drapes on my window were pulled back once more. My nerves twisted as I worried not only about my father, but the masked man as well. More banging proceeded, along with the annoyed and tired grunts that flew from his mouth as his fists collided with the door. Soon, the bangs became heavier, almost as if he was ramming the door with his elbow. My brown eyes were emotionless, staying glued to the window. Part of me wanted to see the masked man standing there. I don't feel as much fear as I do comfort when I see that mask. Comfort that I'm being seen. Observed, noticed. The people who do me wrong, are seen yet they remain overlooked. It still felt nice to have someone see. It made me feel less alone, to a certain extent.

Finally, the pounding stopped. His boots trotted down the hall sloppily, one final thump booming on the wall in a different room. The sound of glass breaking followed afterward. He must have knocked another picture down... he appears to have a bad habit of doing so. I sighed, shutting my eyes and leaning back on my pillow. I suppose it wouldn't hurt, going to bed early. I would be worry free, for once. Speaking of worries, I didn't do my math homework again... oh well. Fuck it. I have better things to do. Like... sleep.

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The next morning, I prepared for school as always. Pulling on a band tee and some jeans, as always. The same bracelets, rings, combat boots and hairstyle. On my way out, I grabbed an apple to munch on as I walked to school. My bag thumped against my hip as I walked, taking a large bite out of the shiny red apple. I approached the dreary building, noticing something off right as I entered. A gloomy atmosphere clung to the air, people auras casting a nasty, depressed vibe at me. My eyes narrowed, but I continued on to my first class. People were frowning, which is odd. Some teary eyed and others on the verge of hysterics. What the hell is going on?

Not a word was muttered in my first few classes. People did their work, snooty remarks not flying across the room as usual. Still, not having a single friend, there wasn't a soul I could ask about what's going on. Deciding to ignore it, I went to my final block, figuring it didn't concern me at all. In fact, this peacefulness was growing on me. Why can't every day be like this? That would be fabulous. Walking in, I slumped into my seat, seeing Brady was the last to enter, a frown plastered to his face. He looked like death as he nearly fell into his seat next to me. My eyes widened, my eyebrows raising. Since when was the ringleader quiet? Did some famous preppy person die or something? I peered around, the usual preps eyes cast down. All but Jamie, who wasn't here today. Perhaps today will be a good day, after all. Suddenly, a nasally voice sounded on the intercom.

"Students, please have a moment of silence for a member who is no longer with us. We lost a student, Jamie Stevenson. Everyone, stay safe and keep Jamie in your hearts."

It was the same speech they gave each time someone died, no matter the cause. But I couldn't help but feel the smallest pang of happiness go through me. Guilt instantly followed it, but I couldn't help the smile that crept across my mouth. I quickly covered it with my hand, not wanting everyone to see the sadistic smile that appeared to be permanent on my face. Although, the sparkle in my brown orbs was hard to miss. One of the people who had bullied me for years on end was finally gone. Out of my life, not to worry about any longer. What a nice thought...

Considering Jamie was in this class, the teacher didn't really subject us into work this day. Everyone was moping and upset... but me. And I couldn't help but feel the smallest bit disturbed. Perhaps Brady was right when he was I was demented... No. It'd be demented if I had been the one to kill her. A laugh burst through my lips at the thought, as I quickly tried to cover it up as a cough. Multiple eyes fell on me as I continued to hide my grin. I just stared at the clock, waiting for the time to slowly tick by. Brady didn't seem like he was going to irritate me today, which was another plus.

I stared out the window, half expecting to see the masked figure, but he was no where to be seen. Only the spotted clouds and rays of sun that tried their best to peek out. The wind was slightly heavy, causing the trees to lean to the side, leaves rustling by. My eyes searched, but he wasn't there. I let out a sad sigh, the ringing bell causing me to nearly jump out of my seat. I quickly gathered my things, rushing out the door hoping to get to my home as quick as possible. Obviously I needed to check the news or something, because I really don't think that Jamie is the type to kill herself. Seemed pretty content with her life. Car accident? I don't know. Oh well, I suppose I would see.

I approached my house, hesitating before I entered to make sure my father wasn't home. Just like I had hoped, he was no where to be found. Nor was my mother, who I haven't seen in what felt like months. I quickly walked to my room, slinging my bag down. Eager, I turned to my TV to switch it on. But before I could, I noticed something next to my canvas. There was a jar, sealed and filled to the brim with red. It sat there, no note or any explanation. An odd smile stretched across my face, my need for red paint distinguished. I hurried over, lifting the jar, turning it and watching the liquid slosh around inside.

Eager, I pulled out a paint brush, turning towards my almost complete painting of the masked man. He must have brought the paint today... for me to finish the drawing of him. I blushed slightly, wondering about the strange relationship I had with him. It felt like I was on somewhat good terms with him... then again, I could be wrong. I unscrewed the cap on the jar, dipping my paint brush in. I lifted it to the canvas, drawing the curved line of his smile onto the canvas. But then... I noticed something off. The thick liquid trailed down, slightly, the consistency... not paint. This wasn't paint... My eyes shot wide, my heart galloping within my chest as I stared at the now dyed, crimson bristles on my paint brush.

It was blood.

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**Sorry for the shortness of this chapter, I'll update sooner and I promise it'll be longer c: Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

My hands shook, the paint brush nearly slipping between my fingers. Blood. I just painted with blood. My eyes were wide, unblinking as I slowly placed the paint brush in a glass of water, screwing the cap on the jar. I gulped, finding it to be time to check out the news and get a better idea on what I've gotten myself into. Something I thought was a nice deed, getting me more red paint when I was out... was actually a sick replacement. Even scarier, it's possible that in the masked man's mind, it was a nice deed.

I took a deep breath as I wandered through the house, making my way to the living room. I stiffly sat in the chair, picking up the remote. A cold sweat began as I wondered what I was going to find. If I was ready to see it or not. Letting out a sigh, I pressed the red button on the remote, the television flickering on. I turned it to the news channel, seeing commercials were currently playing. Each moment was agonizingly slow as I sat there, the anticipation nearly eating me alive. Finally, the news was back on, forcing me to now wait for them to quit talking about weather. Bored, I waited, until I finally heard them begin talking about the murderer.

"The town's gruesome murderer has struck yet again, late last night. Younger viewers are not recommended, and if you do not have a strong stomach, it is not advised that you continue watching. For those of you who do not know of this murderer, he is known as 'The Bloody Painter'. He wears a white mask with blacked out eyes, and a red painted smile. He wears a blue jacket with a yellow smiley face pin. His pants and shoes are black, along with his hair. The only other detail that has been described from a witness, is that he usually carries around a green sketchbook, filled with drawings made from one thing only. The blood of his victims.

His killing usually involves teenagers only, or young adults. What he does, has been a traumatizing sight for any that have come across it. The victims are usually hung up by their ankles on a tree limb, or anything tall enough to support the weight. Afterward, their neck is slit, causing all of their blood to flow down. Most thinks that he keeps a bucket of some sort underneath to gather all the blood. After the victim's body is drained completely he moves on. The last victim found was Jamie Stevenson, her body found in the same way as the others. If you have any information about where to find this man, please notify local authorities. It is recommended that everyone stays indoors as much as they can, and not to roam around at night. Stay safe, everyone."

I turned the television off, not wanting to see anymore. The Bloody Painter was his name. And I now knew that in that jar, was in fact blood. If the police were to find me in the possession of that... I didn't want to know. What would I even say? I suppose I'll worry about it later on. Besides, the police weren't going to be searching my room any time soon anyway. But still... The Bloody Painter gave me a jar of blood from one of his victims, because I was out of paint. He killed one of my bullies. He returned my sketch of his, trying to smooth it out. I have seen him three times now, yet he has not killed me. I felt somewhat special, yet terrified at the same time. This could be part of his game... getting me comfortable and then attack. No matter how... 'nice' he's been so far, that doesn't change the fact that he's a murderer and could flip on me at any time. I just had to play this out right.

I had zero intentions on informing the police that I've seen him. I saw no point. I'm not the biggest fan of people, and obviously The Bloody Painter wasn't either. He wasn't trying to kill me, so why should I bother? There's no one in this stupid town I was afraid for. So why should I try to protect anyone? I snorted, finding it funny that Bloody Painter chose me of all people to keep alive, it probably being his safest choice of a person. A strange part of me wanted to talk to him. Get to know him, at that. I am truly demented like Brady had said... Heh, no matter.

In all honesty, I find what he does to be absolutely fascinating.

~Time Skip To Next Morning At School~

My eyelids were barely open as I crept to the large grey building, not thrilled to be subjected into it's horror this day. But, I should perk up. It's Friday, after all. The best day of the week, no doubt. I walked through the crowded halls, my black bag clanking against my hip as I went. When I turned down a hall, however, I saw three guys walking my way. The one in the middle I realized, was unfortunately Brady. Flanking him was Cody and Jeremy. They spaced out, not allowing me to pass. I grunted, frustrated as I coldly looked up at Brady.

"What do you want?" I snarled, baring my teeth.

His eyes narrowed, the look on his face appearing like he wanted to kill me. "I know you have something to do with the murderer around town," he growled.

My eyes widened in slight shock, but I kept on my poker face. "And why do you say that?"

"Maybe because you just drew that fucker the other day! I remember crumpling that fucking piece of paper up, thinking it was just from your sick imagination! But then I see the same man on the news yesterday? Why else would you draw him, and why else would a girl that you hated die all of a sudden?" he spat, his grey eyes cold.

"I don't know. I saw him on the news too and decided it would be easy to draw. Way to jump to conclusions you moron," I mumbled, rolling my eyes. My heart was wild, because I knew that he was partially correct.

"Watch your mouth, you little freak," the boy to Brady's left, Cody, hissed. His green eyes were menacing, his curly blonde hair covering them just a bit.

I snorted. "Same to ya," I giggled, causing him to crack his knuckles out of frustration.

"Come on. Lets just go," Brady stated, monotone.

They parted as I squeezed through their shoulders, their glares still penetrating on my back. I looked out the large window seeing it was actually sunny today. I leaned up against the bricks out of the side, staring out. And I was pretending to be oblivious to the figure standing off to the side. The Bloody Painter was there, watching in the middle of plain daylight. He seemed pretty brave. Or, he was just too psychotic to care. From this view, he would have just seen everything that happened. Probably even heard a bit, due to the window being open. The comfort that gave me was unnerving. I peeked behind me, seeing no one was paying attention. I turned back, a small smile forming on my face. I lifted my hand, waving at the Bloody Painter from a reason that was unknown to me. I thought I'd get no reaction, but he simply nodded back. My smile grew, seeing I was in fact, on good terms with him. At least, I hoped I was.

The warning bell sounded, causing me to jump, startled. I gave him one last look, before I rushed to my first class. I slid inside the door right as the bell rang, my breaths loud and obnoxious due to my run. It woke me up, at least. I trudged to my seat as the teacher began, my headphones firmly being placed in my ears. I turned on Saviour by Black Veil Brides, grinning as Andy's voice filled my ears. My smile grew as I listened to the lyrics, finding them to be quite fitting at the moment. I started to unconsciously hum the tune, causing the teacher to roughly slap my desk to get my attention. I jumped, so entranced by the song that that literally scared me. I half listened to her lecture about not wearing headphones in class, just pulling one out. I could live with that, I guess. They should know by now that I'm always gonna have them in.

Finally, the bell rung, causing everyone to trip over each other to get out of the hellish room. I packed away my things, walking out the room last. I started along the hall, freezing when I heard the sound of an earsplitting shriek. Me, and mostly all of the other teens took of running down the hall to see what had happened. Although, I thought I had an idea of what. I pushed by people, hearing their rude remarks as I did, and the snobby faces. A sea of teens filled the main hall, and for once... every last one of them were dead silent, looks of horror and shock covering every last one of their faces. Even the teachers. I followed their glance, my breath catching in my throat when I finally saw what they were looking out. There, hanging by his ankles on the stairwell, was Cody. His neck was slashed, the crimson liquid of his blood covering his face and soaking his once golden hair. His mouth was hanging open, along with his now dead emerald eyes. Blood covered below him on the white tiled floor, along with being splattered on the walls. Some of the blood still dripped down from his body, signaling that this had just been done recently. Hell, it had to. If the teachers would have found it before we did, everyone would have been directed around it to avoid having to see. And to avoid the mass chaos that was just about to begin.

Right before everyone began to scream and run I noticed one last detail. On the wall, there was something written in blood. It said,

**DON'T BE EXCITED ABOUT TOMORROW**

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**BECAUSE THERE WILL BE NO TOMORROW**

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**Please review! ^.^**


	5. Chapter 5

A wide smile spread across my face as chaos broke out around me. Everyone was screaming, running. Some even slipping on the blood that coated the floor. A muffled laugh exited my lips as people nearly trampled each other to get out of the door. People shoved by me, nearly knocking me over several times. But I just couldn't keep my eyes away from the glorious scene before me. What a sly man... being able to time everything so perfectly. And, he still manages to escape. Teachers were yelling, trying to keep everyone calm, but it was quite obvious that they were trying hard to themselves. The horrified, disgusted, fearful looks on their faces made my heart warm. I began along a different hall, starting towards the back exit. I'm sure it would take a lot less time.

A couple of stray kids ran by me, their tear streaked faces causing me to giggle. Oh, the glorious chaos surrounding me. And it was all because of The Bloody Painter. I pushed open the back door, starting my decent along the sidewalk. Police sirens screamed as they progressively got closer, along with the sound of an ambulance. Heh, they should have called the coroners instead. Then again, I'm sure several kids were trampled in the middle of the panic. A news van sped by me as I shook my head. Really? Ugh, I feel sorry for the poor saps they interview. Well, I would feel sorrow if I gave a damn.

Clouds dotted the sky the sun not being blocked by any of them. Yet a harsh wind blew, sending my hair sprawling into my face. I squinted, starting down my street and approaching my house. The sweet stench of the metallic blood still lingered as I inhaled a gulp of air. Still, I was wondering what I was going to do with that jar of blood. Honestly, I was considering using it. A few days ago, I definitely wouldn't have. But... I have found myself progressively plunging deeper and deeper down into the depths of insanity. I would be lying if I said I didn't like it. It's just as if this Bloody Painter guy is showing me a different way of life. That I could change it to where happiness lies at every corner, even though he is basically doing it for me.

I entered my house, it empty as always. I started to my room after letting my bag drop to the floor with a heavy thud. When I entered my room, a rush of excitement... and terror fell over me. There, sitting on my chair in front of my canvas, sat the Bloody Painter himself. It appeared as though he had been waiting for me. The jar of blood laid open at his side, a paint brush nimbly between his fingers as he painted on the once blank canvas. My mouth dropped open in shock, my heart nearly pounding out of my chest. His head slowly turned, facing me. In this small distance between us, I could see his eyes were a gorgeous sky blue. Then again, they were cold and brutal, along with charming.

"Um... hello," I whispered, offering a smile.

He nodded his head, his posture tense. I supposed he felt nearly as awkward as I did at the moment. "You're the Bloody Painter," I stated, it not even coming out as a question.

I saw his eyes narrow, then return to normal. He nodded, cocking his head slightly. I guess he was wondering if I was going to take off running and screaming. I slowly sat on my bed, my smile still light on my face.

"I'm Jovey," I introduced myself, tucking a lock of my red hair behind my ear.

"I know," he scoffed, returning his attention to the canvas.

My eyes widened, shocked by hearing his voice for the first time. It was the average voice for a male, deep, smooth and slightly raspy. I blinked a few times, watching as he continued to work.

"I wanted... to um, thank you for all that you've done," I whispered, my cheeks flushing a bit. This was too awkward for my liking.

He paused, his blue eyes glancing at me, confusion lacing them. "You're welcome," he finally replied, sounding unsure.

My eyebrows furrowed as I wondered what was going through his head. "I was just wondering... why?" I questioned.

He abruptly stood up, now towering over me. His cold blue eyes were sinister, yet had a mysterious depth to them. "You were going to be one of my victims," he stated, matter-o-fact. His curt remark stung me a bit, but I didn't take it too much to heart. "I had been watching you, as you were probably aware. But I saw... you were a lot like me," he sighed, sitting back in the chair. He ran a hand through his ruffled black hair, it instantly falling back into place over his mask. "Identical, I should say. Misused. Mistreated. Alone. An interest in art. An interest in darkness," he chuckled, a dangerous vibe surrounding him. "So, I decided to wait. See what happened. You shocked me more and more each day," he continued.

"So you kept me alive... because I'm like you?" I scoffed, finding it hard to believe.

"I kept you alive because I saw me in you," he growled. "You are so close to cracking, Jovey. You must know that."

I could nearly sense the malicious grin that just had to lay on his face. "I would be lying if I said I haven't felt like it," I sighed, it coming out as a whisper. "My thoughts have gotten... progressively darker," I replied, honestly.

He nodded his head, dipping the paint brush in a clear glass of water. I watched as the crimson liquid expanded in the water, swirling around until it consumed the glass.

"So... do you still plan on killing me?" I asked, pursing my lips. I hoped more than anything he wouldn't say yes. That would probably destroy me.

He was silent for a moment, dipping the paint brush back into the blood. He drew a simple line on the canvas, his blue eyes seeming deep in thought. "...No, I doubt I will. Unless you do something rash." He cleared his throat, and I knew he meant calling the cops or telling people. "What I really would like, and why I am here... Is to see if you will become sort of... and assistant to me," he began, pausing and staring over at me.

"You mean... killing people too?" I asked, astonished. Sure, I have thought about killing people multiple times. But I never thought about actually doing so...

"Maybe... not right off the bat," he chuckled. "More like assisting me while I do so. You could choose some of the victims. I know good and well all of your enemies are not diminished."

I let the thought sweep through my mind, also thinking of the dangers of it all. If he were caught by the police... so would I. "What if you get caught? I would be taken to jail for helping you," I replied.

"I have never been caught, and I don't plan on it," he huffed, his sapphire eyes narrowing once more. "We could start with basics. Like jarring the blood, placing them on the rotators so it doesn't dry. Simple little tasks like that, which do not put you in harms way. Then, you can begin assisting me on the killings. Placing the rope around their ankles, silencing them. Such as that. It will make things a lot quicker. Then... you can begin killing on your own," he concluded, wiping the bristles of the paint brush on the edge of the glass.

My eyes widened as I took all of this in, my heart thumping off beat. Why would this killer choose me to be an assistant of some sort. Hell, it sounds more like a partner! Don't most killers prefer to work alone? That's what I thought. But the Bloody Painter said that he saw potential in me... he saw him in me. I guess he had the same kind of life that I did. So did he feel sorrow for me? Or did he just want someone to help him get his work done? Or maybe... just maybe he is feeling the slight pang of loneliness like I feel each day. Is that why he wants me to accompany him? I pursed my lips, before looking up to meet his eyes.

"Yes... I will help you."

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**Please review if you want another chapter! ^.^**


	6. Chapter 6

The Bloody Painter nodded his head, appearing pleased at my answer. Still, I had no earthly idea what I have gotten myself into exactly. Helping a murderer and possibly getting killed myself. He said he wasn't going to kill me... but I'm sure he wouldn't hesitate if I screwed up. I stared at his sapphire eyes, slight fear spilling into mine. But what exactly do I have to lose? Oh, that's right. Nothing.

"You're a smart girl, Jovey. I hope you don't prove otherwise," he chuckled.

I smiled, sheepishly. "When do we um... begin?" I asked, slightly eager.

He merely shrugged, returning his attention to the canvas. "Whenever you would like. What you are going to do first is simple. Either you can watch the killing, or wait until afterwards... but basically, you are going to take the blood I have gathered, and fill them into bags. The jars are for later, once I need it for paint. Afterward, you must place them on the rotators I have so it doesn't dry and harden."

Well, that doesn't seem too hard at all. I smiled, nodding my head. I couldn't be sure, but it felt like he returned my smile. "Sounds easy," I chuckled.

"It is. Once you've done that for a bit, we can move on to other things," he murmured. "I see you have barely touched my gift," he snorted, holding up the still, nearly full jar of blood.

I smiled, sheepishly. "It was just..." I cleared my throat, "... surprising," I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck.

"The fact that it was blood, hmm?" he laughed, it sounding warm. "You'll get used to it. I'm sure in time you will find it to be... fascinating," he drifted off, looking back to the canvas. He stood up, suddenly, causing me to nearly fall over. "I must get going. I will return and bring you along once I need your assistance. As for now, I suggest we let the town squirm," he chuckled.

Shivers ran down my spine, but I offered a halfhearted smile. "What's gonna happen when ya know... most of the people in town are gone."

"Simple, Jovey. We move to a different place. That is, if I find you to be useful," he sneered.

My eyes widened, my heart thumping harder in my chest. No choices. Die if I decline, die if I fail at the job at hand. Oh this was just going to be delightful...

"Oh," I mumbled, my eyes casting to the floor.

"Don't seem so melancholy," he growled, his eyes narrowing as he walked to the window. "What do you have to miss here anyway?"

With that, he exited through my window, seeming to disappear with the wind. I sighed, knowing he was right. There wasn't anything I had to lose. Nothing I would miss, nothing I would regret. In fact, this seems like the greatest thing to come my way in a while. I stood up, walking over to the canvas to see what he had been drawing. It didn't appear to be anything in particular, just different lines and shapes. Some places were shaded darker, probably multiple layers of blood being added on. Yet some were so light, you could barely see. The consistency was interesting, no lie.

What a strange man. My surprise and shock had blocked my mind from all of the questions I had wanted to ask him. Why he uses blood to paint? Why does he kill? Where does he live or stay? How has he kept that a secret? What is his real name? What made him decide to do this? Where does he get money, food? So many questions spiraled in my mind, yet I couldn't ask him most of them. Not yet at least. I knew he didn't trust me completely, just like I don't trust him completely yet. But all that was needed, was just a little bit of time. Then, I could get the answers to my many questions.

I sighed, walking over to my chair by the window. I stared out, remembering when I first saw the Bloody Painter standing there. I was expecting death instantly. Or possibly a stalker that was going to kidnap me, or something. Actually, both of those things are possibly true, just not as extreme as I had originally thought. He was the first person I have had a conversation with that hasn't excelled into a fight or insults. It was oddly refreshing in a way. Not to mention flattering, that he chose me out of everyone. In a way, I was honored and damned. I just couldn't decide which I was more. But I did know, that everything happens for a reason.

I noticed then the faded blue truck that pulled into the driveway. Dad was home. Early. I scampered up, nearly throwing myself at the door, slamming it closed. Quickly, I locked it, breathing heavily as I slid down it's smooth surface. Complete silence adorned the room, my loud heart beat the only thing that was heard. That's when the loud bang of the front door smashed open, then boomed shut, his boots clomping on the floor. Don't come in here... I continued to chant the silent plea in my head, hoping he'd just forget I existed as he usually did. But today didn't appear to be one of those days.

"Jovey!" his loud voice snarled, the sound of his boots growing louder as he stomped his way to my room.

"Yes?" I replied, trying to sound calm. It would only be worse if I ignored.

"Open the damn door!" he yelled, jiggling the handle.

My head hung as I slowly stood, taking note to quickly hide the jar of blood so he wouldn't find it. That would be the worst thing in the world to happen. Hesitantly, I twisted the lock on the door, having it swing open instantly, nearly clipping my nose. There he stood, his grey tank top stained and wrinkled. His beer belly hanging over his faded jeans. The usual brown work boots that were lazily tied. I avoided his cold grey eyes, which thankfully I didn't inherit. I got mom's warm, brown eyes. He smirked at me, before it turned to his usual scowl. His greying scruff helped draw attention to the menacing scowl, along with the shaggy salt and pepper hair on top of his head.

"It's open," I murmured, awkwardly shifting my weight onto each foot.

"Where were you yesterday?" he hissed, raising an eyebrow.

"I went to bed early," I whispered, shrugging.

My head was thrown to the side, my red hair swooshing and covering my now aching check as it went. "What did I tell you about lying," he growled, as my hand subconsciously cupped my cheek.

"I wasn't lying!" I hissed back, facing him.

"Even if you were, I know good and well you heard me when I called you. You had the door locked which I don't allow, either," he snarled.

Well, I couldn't argue with that. He knew I avoided him, for this reason, mainly. I didn't know which was worse, him sober or drunk. I then noticed his head turn, looking over at my canvas.

"What the hell is that?" he growled, storming in, nearly knocking me to the floor as he pushed past me. His eyes appraised the painting the Bloody Painter had started, his eyebrows furrowing at the sight. He then looked at me, confused and angry as always. "I didn't think you could get any more fucked up with your art," he snickered, shaking his head. "But I was wrong. You need to find a hobbie that you can actual pursue, not this bullshit."

I flinched. Well, that stung. "I want to be an artist," I replied, my eyes narrowing.

"Heh, don't cry to me when you end up being homeless," he sneered. "Once you're eighteen, you're on your own. Luckily, that's just one more year."

I stared at him blankly, rage building inside me. "Why the fuck would I want to stay here with your alcoholic ass anyway," I hissed, instantly regretting the words once they had left my mouth... Oh my god... what did I just do?

It was like the flip of a switch, anger boiling up and spilling out of his cold eyes. He started forward, backhanding me once more, this time it causing me to topple to the floor.

"You think you can speak that way to your father?" he growled, kicking me in the gut. The wind was knocked out of me as I gasped for air. "I should throw you to the streets right now! It's not like you're wanted her. It's not like I could have a normal child," he spat.

I just laid there, trying to ignore his harsh words. I blocked out his yelling and ranting, until I finally heard the words 'need' and 'beer'. Typical. The door roughly slammed as I laid there on the floor, my eyes shut. An ache was throbbing in my stomach, my cheek feeling as though it were burned. I wasn't too distraught, that was cake compared to the pain he has inflicted before. All he wanted was a normal child? Well, all I wanted was a father who didn't take pleasure in beating me. But that didn't happen, either.

I debated on whether or not I should get up. But, part of me just wanted to stay right here on the cool carpet. Either way, I was dying to join the Bloody Painter at this very moment. Whether he kills me or not, he's taking me away from here soon. And I would gladly go, destroying everyone in my path.

Like he had said. He was just like me. And it felt so refreshing to know that there was someone else out there that understood.

I was not alone.

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**Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

In the haze of drowsiness and beautiful sleep, I still managed to hear my name being called. It was a low whisper, but was rushed in a way to tell me the person was either irritated or confused. It was quiet for a moment, so I decided to forget I'd heard it. After all, I was so comfortable right now... And tired. Yes... very tired. The voice called again, this time more persistent and forceful.

"What?" I groaned, having to nearly pry my eyes open.

That's when I realized that I was still on the floor, curled up. Goosebumps were covering my skin due to my lack of blankets down here. My eyes were blurry as I tried to look around, trying to figure out what was going on. I first noticed my window was open, a slight breeze moving the black drape forward, lightly. The night sky was bright due to the nearly full moon, and the twinkling stars that shined. Soft rays of light entered through the window, falling over my canvas and chair. It also clearly showed the figure that was standing in the corner of my room.

My eyes focused on it, instantly realizing who the masked figure was. His head was cocked, his tousled black hair falling to the side. I hurriedly pulled myself up, off of the floor. My dark red hair was more than likely a mess, but I didn't necessarily care at this moment. I grimaced as pain radiated through my stomach, but I refused to show it. I pursed my lips as I stared at the Bloody Painter, awkwardly.

"Um... hi," I chuckled, rocking back and forth on my heels.

"Any particular reason why you decided to sleep on the floor?" he scoffed.

"Yeah well... ya know... it was just kind of there," I murmured, shrugging.

I heard him sigh, along with a shake of his head. "Ah well. We have more important business to attend to than discussing this. Are you ready to begin?" he asked, excitement flaring within me.

"Yep I am!" I said, a bit too cheerfully.

"Wonderful. I have already gathered the blood, so your job comes next," he nodded, starting forward to the window. I followed, easily climbing out behind him into the cool night air. He twisted before stopping all together. "I almost forgot," he chuckled to himself.

He reached into one of the pockets in his blue jacket, pulling out what looked to be a black blindfold. I looked at him questioningly, one of my eyebrows raised.

"Is that really necessary?" I murmured as he quickly placed the cloth in front of my eyes, tying it in the back.

"Yes, it is, Jovey. I don't know if you can be trusted just yet, especially knowing where I reside. You could run to the cops and tell them for all I know. It's just a safety precaution, for now. In time I'm sure it will no longer be an issue," his voice replied, reassuringly.

My eyes scanned around, but all I saw was complete darkness. I felt his hand take a hold of my arm, starting forward at a slow rate. It did make me feel quite nervous, but with the memories of earlier today, I didn't really care what was going to happen. It was an adventure, after all, and I'm going to live it as best as I can. I focused on my hearing instead, listening intensely to the sound of crickets chirping, and the occasional frogs. The gusts of wind the sent my hair back, causing goose bumps to rise on my skin once more. The soft patter of our feet on the ground as he pulled me forward, not once crossing or stepping on a road. I would have noticed the different sound and feel, but it has yet to change. It was still smooth grass that tickled my ankles.

Eventually, however, we entered a new setting. It was the forest, I'm sure. Twigs now snapped under my feet, loose stones and rocks being kicked up from the dirt by my scuffling shoes. Small limbs grazed my right arm, the Bloody Painter blocking my left. Suddenly, he pulled me towards him causing a gasp to fly from my mouth.

"Sorry..." I heard him mumble, starting forward again. "You just about ran into a tree," he chuckled.

I sighed, wishing I still had my sight. But I understood his concern. He couldn't know for sure I wouldn't tell. Hell, I knew there was no one I was going to tell, although I just had to prove it to him. And tonight was test number one. Finally, we came to a stop, his hand releasing my arm. There was a sound of a key twisting in a lock. The satisfying pop as it unlocked, the old creaky door swinging open on its rusty hinges. His hand was back once more, guiding me forward through the doorway. I heard the door swing closed, and the Bloody Painter's hand was gone again.

I waited a moment, slight panic coursing through me due to one of my senses being blocked and the Bloody Painter not holding my arm. That's when I heard a strike of a match. Several bad thoughts went through my brain due to that sound. He could be trying to kill me, lighting this place on fire and locking me in with it. But then, the blindfold was removed from my head. The first thing I saw, of course, were the candles that were lit, offering light into the dark room. Of course there would be no lights, due to no electrical bills being paid. How is he even staying here?

My eyes gazed around the small cabin, taking in every detail. The only furniture in this room was an old rotten couch with a small chipped table to it's side. A lit vanilla candle laid on top of it, offering a small circle of light into the room. Moth eaten navy drapes hung over the windows, blocking the outside from looking in. A matching rug laid on the floor, contrasting with the old grey wood that made the walls and floor. The TV to the side appeared busted, its plug lazily laying at it's side not even in the wall. A prominent scratch laid across it's screen. I pursed my lips, glad at least that it didn't stink in here. By the looks, you would think so.

"You'll be working here for tonight," he nodded, walking forward to the next room.

I noticed a doorway to the left, peeking in and seeing it was a small kitchen. There was a slightly grubby refrigerator, and I'd honestly be shocked if it worked. Mold grew along the faded white, matching the stove and sink. The bar, however contained various foods. A loaf of bread, apples, cereal. Hell, there was even a few candy bars. Chips, and a slim container of soda. If he had a working refrigerator, he could enjoy some cold drinks instead of hot. I shrugged my shoulders, turning and exiting from the room. I hurried forward to where he had gone, coming to a stop where he was. He was waiting, laying back on another battered couch. His head looked up to where I was standing, the few candles he had lit offering some light to the room.

In front of him was a long coffee table, a relatively large tin bucket laying on top of it. I knew exactly what was in that bucket... I gulped, also seeing the empty jars that was beside it, along with syringes. How did he accomplish all of this? It confused me so much, how he managed to do all of this, and remain uncaught. I needed some answers.

"Before we begin, could I ask you some questions?" I whispered, walking over to get a better look. I saw the dark liquid in the bucket, undisturbed at the moment.

"Ask away," he nodded.

"Okay... how does the blood like... not dry once you jar it? Doesn't it dry really fast?"

"Yes, blood usually does dry extremely fast. In fact, one drop of blood can completely dry within twenty minutes. Although, the more there is, the more time you have. Also, if it is kept in motion, it does not dry as quickly. That is why I had this," he murmured, standing from the couch. He walked to the other side of the room, presenting a device that appeared foreign to me. "Don't look so shocked," he chuckled. "This is what I call a rotator. Not as fancy as some models and designs, but it works all the same. It has room for three jars to be strapped in and set within these holders," he explained. "You see, each time I gather blood, I get around a gallon and a half. Each human has seven percent of body weight turn out to be blood. So the bigger they are... the more I get. Although that is more work... So, with that gallon and a half being usual, each jar contains half a gallon. Basically, this rotator is made to contain all of the blood from a single person."

I stared at him, my eyes wide. He has really thought all of this through, but I suppose he would be the blood expert. "How does that thing rotate?" I asked, wanting to know more.

"Well, when all of the jars are placed on it, equally apart with almost the same weight, they make it move in a continuous cycle. The flat, circular top where the jars are, are connected to the bottom in a way that makes it pivot. Basically, it is connected to there so it wont come apart, but it is able to move freely with various weight. For example," he murmured, grabbing three empty jars. He placed them all in the holders, and I watched as it started to pivot at an angle. It was like a roller coaster in a way. I shook my head, still not understanding well.

"Alrighty, then," I chuckled, shaking my head. "How long does your jars last?"

"Since I use them so frequently, I'd give it a week at most. Then again, that's when it would start to dry and crisp around the edges anyway. Are you ready to begin?" he asked, walking back over to the tin bucket. I nodded, walking over and sitting beside him. He picked up a jar and a syringe, about to demonstrate. "All you have to do is dip the syringe into the bucket, and pull up the end so it draws in the blood. Then, put the tip over the jar and push the tip back in. Simple as that," he stated, as I watched the blood cascade into the jar from the syringe.

"Alright. That seems easy," I chuckled, taking the syringe and jar he offered me.

"It is. But very boring indeed."

I dipped in the syringe, mimicking what he had just shown me. It was any easy task, and I was careful not to drip any of the crimson liquid. "So, why exactly do you do this, if you don't mind me asking?" I started, trying to make conversation.

"Same reason you agreed," he chuckled. "Malice towards people? A hatred towards society? Partially. I also enjoy the dark art that is formed from it. Painting with blood... It's just so... fascinating..." he purred. I could tell he was smiling, even though he was wearing a mask. "I would just take blood from myself. But, I would need so much more than I would be able to take at a time. Not to mention it's easier to get the job done all at once. Not to mention having to worry about money," he chuckled.

"How does that work, you getting food for yourself?"

"Simple. I gather food from victims house. Or I just take the money that they have on their person. I can't necessarily walk into a store, but it is convenient to have if I were to ever need it."

I nodded to myself. He was very witty. I just don't know if having me as an accomplice is. "How have you not gotten caught?"

"Simple. Be observant. Look around your environment, make sure there is no one you can see. Avoid windows or doorways if possible. Lurk in shadows, stay out of public eye. It's all in that. Not saying I haven't had to run from police before," he chuckled. "Still. They have never caught me."

I nodded once more, continuing with my work. He sure was a strange man. Yet so interesting at the same time. I wondered yet again what exactly I have gotten myself into. Although he seems calm, mannerly and intelligent, insanity lurked in his mind. I just haven't seen him that way yet. Sure, his little signs in the beginning, like the smiley face on the window and the jar of blood showed he was insane, I haven't seen him act like in person yet. That thought alone terrified me for what was to come. To see the Bloody Painter lose it? I mentally shivered at the thought. One important question sprung into my mind.

"What's your name? I know they call you the Bloody Painter. But what is your real name?"

He was silent for a minute, thinking over my question. Until he finally shook his head. "That is a question for another time," he replied, bleakly.

I sighed, a sea of questions still tumbling in my head. Where was all of his paintings? I saw the other door in this room, possibly a bedroom. So in there? Even so, with how much blood he goes through, how does he cart all of his paintings or drawings around when he moves on to a new town? How does he get canvases? How did he even come to possess this place anyway? What would happen if the cops found it, or tried to investigate inside? So many questions, all for another time.

I let out another, deeper sigh, turning back to the bucket of blood. I had barely put a dent in the contents so far. This was going to be a long night...

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**Sorry for the wait! This chapter required a lot of research xD Please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

My head loomed over the now empty tin bucket, my eyelids drooping from exhaustion. How long had I been working? Hours on end? Yet, still, not a single complaint exited my lips. Partially, I felt like a slave. Doing the meager jobs that Bloody Painter didn't want to do himself due to the boring process, while he gets to do all the fun stuff. Then again, I knew that wasn't the case. He was just having me start from the bottom, to see if I would be useful, compliant and overall, serious about this. If I were to complain about this, why would he want me to continue with more?

I emptied the last bit of blood into the final jar, seeing it now filled to the brim with blood. The tin bucket's insides were stained and crusted with old blood. The newer blood still coated it as well, giving it a glossy appearance. I hauled myself up, aware of the eyes that were still watching me as I made my way to the rotator. I placed the last jar onto it, strapping it in so it wouldn't fall off. It began to move in a strange motion, my dull eyes watching with now little interest.

"Well done," the Bloody Painter nodded in approval.

"Wasn't that difficult," I mumbled, not caring if I came off rude. I needed sleep, badly.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I see you want to do something interesting, hmm?" he questioned, standing from the old couch.

"Yes, that would be great," I chuckled, bending side to side, hearing the satisfying snap of my bones popping.

"Alright. Tomorrow we shall start, then. I was prepared for you to be on this level for a while, to be honest. Then again, with how you think, I'm sure you just want to see the blood spill, correct?" I nodded, now popping my fingers and stretching them out. "Alright. Let's get you home, then," he sighed.

I watched as he produced the black blindfold once more, too tired to complain about it. We walked to the first room I had entered as he quickly blocked my sense of sight once more. Silently, I heard the door open as he pulled me outside. The air was cool, slight light making it's way through the material of the blindfold. It must be nearly morning. This was definitely going to mess up my sleeping pattern, but I didn't mind too much. It wasn't that big of a deal.

He looked the door behind me, then started forward throughout the woods. We continued on, my hands subconsciously placing themselves in front of me, outstretched so I wouldn't hit a tree. Bloody Painter's hand was lightly on my shoulder, making sure of that as well. The walk home was quite simple, then again I found myself nearly tripping once due to the change of the land beneath my feet. A slight hole, tripping me up. But, I instantly caught myself, grabbing on to his arm.

Once we were back, my blindfold was removed, my home in front of my eyes. I looked up to see the sun barely peeking out up ahead, casting glorious light across the sky. The Bloody Painter's back was to it, sending shadows over his appearance. Part of me just wanted to go back with him, to go to sleep on the old couch. Wake up, and start on a new mission with him. But, I knew that couldn't be. I had to get back and continue my own boring life until it was finally time to leave. I then realized I wouldn't have to worry about school any longer. No more studying, no more homework or projects. My grades could drop without me caring. After all, I'd either be skipping town or dead by a months time.

"Alright. See you tonight, Jovey. And if you don't mind, leave your window slightly open at least. Makes it easier for me," he chuckled, sticking his hands along with the blindfold into the pockets of his blue jacket.

"Okay. Pick out a good victim for me," I giggled, without humor.

"Don't worry, I will," he nodded. Partially, I wished I could see his expression. His tone of voice gave nothing away, yet I couldn't help but think he was planning something. Not bad... but shocking. Something I would like to see.

We both turned, parting ways as I slowly walked back to my home. I stealthily climbed through the window, making no noise as I planted my feet onto the carpet of my room once more. I peeked out the window, making out the Bloody Painter's retreating form out of the corner of my eye. Exhausted, I nearly collapsed onto my bed, not even bothering with changing or pulling the covers up. I didn't care about the speckles of dried blood on my hands from where I had accidentally caused it to splatter on me while working. I was too tired to care. And I needed sleep more than anything.

I shut my eyes, falling into a deep slumber.

I awoke with a start, my head snapping to the door. My heart was hammering, fear that my father was at the door once more engulfing me. What if he found out what I had done? What if he knew I was gone all night and was going to question me? What about the blood splattered on my hands? I continued to panic until I saw the figure standing in the corner of my room, lightly tapping on the window to gain my attention. He was back? Already? How long did I sleep? It was early morning when he had dropped me off the first time. Plus I haven't eaten yet...

I pulled myself up from my bed, reaching over and turning on the lamp. Light flooded into the room, coasting over the Bloody Painter's appearance once more. I looked out the window to see it was open, due to his entry, yet night was just beginning to cast over. The sun was setting in the horizon, twilight taking over. I shook my head, rubbing my eyes as I got awake.

"Man, I was asleep for a while," I murmured.

"Well, you did practically skip a night's rest. I don't blame you," he chuckled. "Your next assignment, however, is all set up and ready."

The way he said that... just caused shivers to run down my spine. I didn't know why exactly, then again, I was just as eager to see. While I was thinking this over, my stomach conveniently rumbled. I placed my hand over it, a sheepish expression pulling across my face.

"Would you mind if I ate something real quick? I didn't get to eat today," I chuckled, awkwardly.

"Of course," he nodded, sitting down on my canvas chair. "May I look through your paintings?" he asked, pointing to them.

I paused, noticing how no one has ever wanted to look at my art before. If they began to, they'd end up disgusted or creeped out. But... he was different. "Sure, go ahead."

I offered a small smile, then exited through my bedroom door, shutting it behind me. The house was silent as I walked down the hall, relief flooding within me. They both were gone, as usual. Although it would just figure if dad were here. But, as I passed the living room, the TV was off, his chair was empty, and his boots were not lazily tossed by the door. Perfect. Quickly, I walked into the kitchen, speedily making a sandwich and grabbing a soda. I paused for a moment, wondering if I should make Bloody Painter something as well... I mean, he doesn't come across food that easily. Then again, I don't believe he would take off his mask to eat in front of me.

I sighed, nearly choking the sandwich down, washing it down with the soda as fast as I could. Then, I was barreling back to my room. I opened the door, seeing Bloody Painter still sitting at my canvas, yet he was sorting through all of my pieces, appraising each one. He seemed completely oblivious that I had entered, lost in thought as he looked at each one.

"Um... I'm ready," I mumbled, clearing my throat to make my presence known.

His head snapped up, his blue eyes meeting my brown ones. "You painted all these?" he asked, seeming unable to believe.

"...Yes," I replied, messing with my fingers as my face heated up. Did he think they were messed up too?

"These are amazing," he breathed, his face turning back to them. "Much like my own style, I must say. You have excellent taste," he nodded in approval.

I couldn't help the blush that spread across my cheeks, and the smile that brightened my features. "Thank you," I replied, nearly giggling. "Although most people say my 'taste' is fucked up and disturbing."

"My point made," he replied, bluntly. I couldn't help but laugh. "Very few find darkness to be beautiful. But, I, on the other hand, do."

Silence followed my words, as I fought to think of a reply. Unfortunately, I came up with none. With that he stood up, gently placing my pieces back down where he had gotten them.

"So, are you ready to go? I have a feeling you are going to like this," he started. I could easily tell he was smiling with anticipation.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I nodded.

He turned, exiting out the window, then motioned for me to follow. I climbed out, falling into place beside him. Since we were not going back to his place, apparently, I didn't need a blindfold. By the looks, though, we were in fact going into the woods. With the dim light, it did worry me slightly. How in the world was I supposed to see?

"Could you explain what I am going to be doing?" I asked, suddenly, trying to make conversation.

"Certainly. I already found and took care of a victim that is currently out here. What you will be doing, is tying the rope around their ankles. If you want, I could help you hang them onto a tree if you want to continue. There wont be any killing for you, yet. I want to save that for later," he chuckled.

I nodded, understandingly. "So, if you 'already took care of them', how are you going to get their blood?" I asked.

"Simple. I snapped their neck," he replied, as if it were nothing. "No blood gets lost that way, and they aren't going to run anywhere. Then again, you have to salvage the blood right after of course. I just killed them before I came to get you. So, we are going to finish now."

"Do you always snap their neck first?"

"No. This was just so I could come get you beforehand. It's always more entertaining to... watch them suffer a bit first. Trust me, Jovey, you will see and understand everything eventually. We just have to take it one step at a time," he chuckled. I nodded, letting out a gust of air, until he came to a stop. I halted with him, seeing a figure laying slumped in the distance. "Alright, here we go. The supplies are laying next to him," he stated, motioning me to step forward. "I have a feeling you will enjoy this," he chuckled, darkly.

Huh? Enjoy tying someone up? That didn't make sense. I walked forward, until I saw their face. At first, I was confused. I had no idea who this was. But, then I remembered the two guys flanking Brady just yesterday. The first one, Cody, was already dead in a marvelously made scene for everyone.

Now, this was the other boy. Jeremy.

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	9. Chapter 9

A tingling feeling flew up my spine, a smile unconsciously finding it's way across my face. A giggle trembled from my lips as I looked over at the Bloody Painter. An expression only a happy, young school girl could possess pulled onto my face. Each one of my enemies, crumbling beneath me. I knew good and well this would never get old. A quiet laugh muffled through Bloody Painter's mask as he looked over at me, his gloved hand shuffling through the pockets of his navy jacket. He then produced a black mass of fabric, offering it to me.

"Here, wear these. Your identity still needs to remain a secret, and finger prints is not something we want the authorities to find," he explained.

I took the gloves from him, slipping them on my hands with ease. I stretched out my fingers, feeling the fabric against them. "So, show me what to do," I began, eagerly.

He nodded, taking a few steps forward, then knelt in front of the corps. I followed his example as he began to shuffle through all of his supplies that were strewn about on the grass. He picked up the rope, smoothing it out while handing it to me. Then, he pushed the body over, so the feet were the closest to us.

"Now, this is what you will do," he began. He took the rope from me, then began to wrap it around the boy's ankles. "You are going to make a binding knot, like so," he instructed, slowly twisting the rope. I watched as his hands turned, forming the strong looking knot. He pulled it tightly, creating a tangled ball that didn't appear to ever be able to come loose. "After you're finished with this, you take this end," he continued, holding up the end of the rope, "and through it over a tree limb. I already picked this one out above, and tested my weight on it to ensure that the limb will not snap. Once done, you tie the same knot I showed you."

Stealthily, he undid the knot, offering the rope to me. My eyes were wide as I fought to remember how he had made such a thing. I pursed my lips, wrapping the rope around Jeremy's ankles once more. Pressure built within me, not wanting to disappoint the Bloody Painter. I twisted my hands, trying to remember how exactly he did this. I eventually thought I had done it, pulling the knot closed. Unfortunately, I must have done something wrong, causing the rope to simply unravel in my hands. I groaned, frustrated as my eyebrows slammed together.

"Here," the Bloody Painter murmured, coming behind me.

Awkwardly, he placed his gloved hands above mine, showing me once more how to tie the knot. I watched, also noticing the warmth of his chest against my back, and his slow intake of breath. I shook my head, focusing once more on the knot. His hands lifted from mine as he pulled away, his blue eyes on me once more. I sighed, taking the rope and twisting it around as he instructed. I pulled it closed, pride swelling within me, seeing that I managed to do it. Perhaps I wasn't a total fuck up.

"Good job," he nodded in approval.

We both then stood, the rope still in my hands. The limb was a few feet above my head, not too far away, but just enough that I couldn't simply reach up to it. I looked over at him, as he motioned me forward. I threw the rope up, having it fall right back down. My cheeks nearly matched my hair color as I sighed, picking it up once more. I threw the rope up, managing to have it fall over the limb. I jumped up, grabbing the other end.

"Alright. Now you just have to make the other knot."

I pursed my lips, looking up. "Um... how do I reach?" I asked, cursing my short height.

He chuckled, as I looked up at his tall form. He could easily jump up and reach that limb. I, however, would look like a small child trying to grab something held above their head.

"Here, I can do this. Don't you worry about it," he replied, a certain smile in his voice.

He walked over, taking the rope from me. Instantly, he was pulling on it, hauling the body up into the air. He continued to pull, the body jerkily sliding up. His head limply hung, as it was pulled off the ground entirely, hanging in the air. Once he was done pulling, Bloody Painter quickly looped the rope, making the binding knot once more, securing the body.

Jeremy's body swayed on the tree limb, gusts of wind lightly blowing it as Bloody Painter stood at my side. The dead boy's eyes were wide open, glazed and emotionless. Silence proceeded as the Bloody Painter picked up his tin bucket, carefully placing it beneath Jeremy's head. It was large enough to allow room for his body to sway, yet still catch every drop of blood that spills.

"You have done a good job," he noted, looking up at me once more.

I grinned, rocking back and forth on my heels. "Thank you."

"I'll let you rest tomorrow. You've done more than I expected this weekend."

"Alright, thank you. Um... you can still come over if you'd like," I offered, not really knowing why. Although I will say that I did enjoy his company.

He paused, then nodded his head. "I'll see," he bluntly replied, leaving me unsure whether or not to expect his arrival. He then flicked out his wrist, the blade of a pocket knife springing free. "This will be what you get to do next," he mumbled, walking over to the corpse. "Not kill them yourself. But learn where to cut. How to do it properly and neatly. Then, there's the final thing which I'm sure you know what is."

"Taking them down myself," I whispered, sucking in a deep breath of air.

"Yes. And that is going to require some training. Do you have any experience with fighting?" he asked.

"More than you'd imagine," I grumbled beneath my breath.

"Good. We'll get to it next week then," he replied.

With that. He knelt in front of the corps, placing the blade of his knife against their throat. With one single swipe, the blood tumbled out like a waterfall, trickling into the tin bucket below.

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	10. Chapter 10

I awoke in the morning, my face smashed into my pillow. My hands were curled at my sides, the soft black gloves still snug around my fingers. I groaned, hauling myself up, rubbing my eyes. I looked around my room, seeing the Bloody Painter was no where in sight. Perhaps he wouldn't come today... I mean, it was a long shot after all. I lazily stood, hearing the springs in my bed creak as I did. Memories of the previous night invaded my mind, warmth spreading throughout me. After the Bloody Painter slit Jeremy's throat, we simply stood, watching until every last drop dripped down into the bucket. Once done, we left the body hanging where it was, collecting all the tools and the bucket. Our truck through the woods was quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way. He had walked me to the edge, until my home was in clear sight. I told him goodnight, then started ahead, his figure disappearing behind me.

I could get used to this. I wasn't even going to lie to myself, I was happier now than I have been in a long while. I padded into the bathroom, a much needed shower my first priority. I started the water, turning the handles until it was scolding hot. I then shrugged out of my black and red hoodie, then pulled off my black jeans. Perhaps I should wash them later... make it a usual outfit when I go off with the Bloody Painter. I nodded to myself, stripping out of the rest of my clothes, then jumping into the scalding shower. Steam billowed around me as I quickly took the shower, not wanting to still be in here when or if the Bloody Painter arrives. Although I do doubt very highly that he would come this early. How he managed to still stealthily creep through daylight unnoticed is a mystery to me. But it just made him all the more intriguing.

Once done, I hopped out, swaddling a towel around my torso. My brown eyes were half open, sleepiness still tugging on the back of my mind. I had to get used to the times of my new... hobby. I laugh bubbled up through my lips as I rung out my hair with another towel. Walking out of the bathroom, I felt the icy cold air from my room hit me like a wall, steam pouring out like fog. Hurriedly, I got dressed and dried my hair. Styling it like usual, I threw it up in a quick ponytail allowing my pierced ears to show. I peeked out the window once more, seeing nothing in sight. I bit my lip, disappointment beginning to fill me. Yeah, it was most certainly a long shot expecting him to come. To think that we could possibly even be friends? No. To him, it was nothing more than work. I was an assistant, a prodigy, a potential killer that he wanted to mold into something.

I sighed, walking out of my room and into the kitchen once more. I peeked around the corner, seeing both of my parents gone once more. A sight that used to upset me is now blissful to see. I made a quick bowl of cereal, scarfing it down, following it with some water. I leaned back on the wooden kitchen chair, listening to the silence that echoed around me. A sudden, quiet knock got my attention, causing me to stand in an alarmingly fast rate. The chair tumbled to the ground, the boom echoing around the empty house. I quickly picked it up, then broke off into a sprint to my room. I grabbed the doorway, pulling myself to a stop as my eyes instantly fell upon my window. A smile involuntarily broke across my face at the sight of the Bloody Painter.

I hurried to the window, nearly throwing it open. I couldn't help but wonder why he knocked, when both of us knew he could get in easily without my assistance. For a killer, he still did seem to appear to have manners, which was shocking. He stepped through the window, easily landing on the carpet below. Blood splatters appeared to be fading on his mask, but he didn't seem to mind it too much. His hands were tucked into his navy jacket, his light blue eyes appraising me. I shut the window, releasing the black drapes so they swung over. Didn't need anyone walking by and see a killer in my bedroom.

"Hi," I started, walking over to my bed and plopping down. "I didn't think that you'd come today," I chuckled to myself, my blatant honesty causing him to laugh.

"Yes, I just have so many things on my schedule to prevent me from coming," he sarcastically replied, sitting down at my canvas.

"Still," I shrugged, crossing my arms.

He faced my canvas, screwing off the lid of the blood jar once more. "Do you mind?" he asked, signalling to the blank canvas in front of him.

"Not at all," I replied, shaking my head.

"Why don't you paint as well?" he offered, scooting over, patting the space beside him.

My eyes widened, my heart thumping unevenly. "Um... sure," I replied, baffled. I have never painted with anyone before, let alone on the same canvas. How was this going to work?

Wordlessly, we began to paint, each of us taking one side of the canvas. Blood was all we were using, the texture still unusual to me. I gripped my thin paint brush, thoughtlessly drawing random lines. I nearly had to force myself not to look over at his side, knowing once I did I wouldn't be able to look away. I continued on, noticing how the blood slowly trickled down the paper until finally coming to a stop and drying. We continued to silently work, our sides slightly touching due to sharing the same seat. Our arms would brush against each other when either of us would get more blood on my paint brush or dip it in the small glass of water.

He finished before me, his side nearly covered with blood from what I could see out of the corner of my eye. I was nearly finished, still not knowing where this had come from. I knew exactly what it was, yet I hoped he couldn't figure out what it was. Although it was miserably obvious in my opinion. There was the frame of a window, the scene shaded with the blood. The most prominent thing was the figure of a boy behind the glass, it being the thickest and darkest part of the painting. I peeked over at the Bloody Painter's side, amazed by what I saw. It was the same thing... only from the other way around. The scene of my window from the outside, the view of my bedroom on the inside. A darker figure sitting in front of my canvas. Me.

I looked up at him, my eyes wide, my mouth dropped open. His blue eyes were stunned as he took in my drawing, before he threw an accusing look my way. "You peeked, didn't you," he grumbled.

"No," I replied, shaking my head, furiously. "I was about to ask the same of you."

He cocked his head, his eyes falling back onto the still drying canvas. "Amazing..." he whispered as his baby blue orbs scanned the painting.

"What is your name?" I asked, the words exploding from my mouth without a single thought. "I'm tired of called you Bloody Painter like everyone else. I know you wanted me to kill and be more comfortable around me before you reveal your name... but I just have to know. You should see by now that I am more serious about what we do than anything else in my entire life."

His eyes still were locked on the painting, no response coming from him. I waited, still not seeing anything different from him. I sighed, standing up from our seat. I was about to turn, and leave, when I finally heard him speak.

"Helen. Helen Otis," he whispered.

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	11. Chapter 11

www. facebook. c0m/ pages/ Gotosleeplove/ 595738243874516

(just take out the spaces and change the 0 to o cause fanfic don't like links -_-)

Heyo everyone! Sorry, this isn't an update. But I do recommend that you read on. I have created a page on facebook for you all to like/follow, to get faster notices for updates, or possibly notifications of a longer wait for a chapter. Also, this will give ya the chance to be more involved with what happens with the stories. Post your ideas/what you would like! This is a great chance to throw in what you would like to see, and discuss with me and others what you would like for any new stories I end up making.

And for all of you who like Drowned In Icy Waters... I would check it out ;)


	12. Chapter 12

"Helen?" I asked, my eyes widening as I turned around.

Well, that was a girlish name, I must say. I watched as his eyes narrowed, appearing to not like the sound of it either. "Yeah, that's my name," he replied, his voice gruff. He cleared his throat, standing from the chair.

"Helen," I whispered, under my breath, smiling slightly as I said it. "I like it," I giggled, then quickly shut up. Why'd I say that for? Oh well, it didn't matter.

He looked over at me, his sapphire eyes seeming less hard than usual. I knew he noticed it as well. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was warming up to me. For whatever reason, that caused a certain sense of pride to swell within me. Why be happy you're accepted by a killer? That isn't necessarily something people strive to accomplish. Yet I felt as though I have nearly reached the top of Mount Everest. I walked over, sitting next to him once more. My eyes swept over the painting, my hand reaching out towards it. My fingers nearly grazed the surface as they trailed over it. Such amazing work...

"Why did you start killing people?" I asked, looking up at him. "Why didn't you just become an artist with regular paint? You would have had a wonderful career, I'm sure," I whispered, my eyes dropping to the ground.

"I wouldn't have nearly the same amount of satisfaction. I don't do this for others enjoyment. I could care less if others were to ever see my work. It's all for my happiness alone. Although, I must say..." he mumbled. "Having you compliment work does feel nice, Jovey," he added, shrugging slightly.

I smiled, slightly, pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. I pursed my lips, meeting his eyes once more.

"Could I ask you some questions?" My brown eyes were wide and persistent as I stared up at him, his expression unreadable as always.

"What's stopped you from asking them before?" he chuckled, shaking his head.

A light blush heated my cheeks as I bit my lip, dropping my eyes once more. "Well, those were mainly about what you-we do. This is more... just about you," I replied, trying to think of how to word this exactly. Either way, it sounded strange in my opinion.

He was silent for a moment, as I waited, not wanting to look up once more. "Okay," he finally replied, sounding hesitant but willing.

"Alright. Well, for starters, how old are you?" I asked.

"Nineteen," he replied, almost instantly. "I started painting with blood when I was fourteen. So, it's been around five years," he added, providing more information than I had originally expected.

I nodded to myself, picking up a paint brush and fumbling with it between my fingers. "And what exactly gave you that idea?" I asked, peeking up at him once more.

There was a proceeded silence, then a loaded sigh. "You could say... I cracked, I suppose? On some level, that would be correct," he murmured. "I was just like you, Jovey. Nearly identical. With that said, I assume you understand what I'm getting at," he stated, cracking his knuckles.

I stared up at him in shock, nearly dropping the paint brush. "You... people were? Oh my god," I breathed, fumbling over my words.

"Why do you sound so shocked?" he chuckled.

"Because you're so... you," I replied, exasperated. "You're interesting. Badass, creative. Smart, passionate and a gentleman, in my opinion. Although, I highly doubt others would see that while you're killing them," I chuckled. "I just don't see how that makes any sense," I mumbled, shaking my head.

"I could say the same," Helen scoffed, leaning back on his half of the chair. "You have gone through the same thing I had, years ago. Only not enough to make you lose yourself. Plus, I wish there had been someone there to guide me," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"What... happened?" I whispered, wondering if I was pushing too far. I didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable, or to get angry at me for asking so many questions.

He looked at me, a new, slightly vulnerable glaze over his eyes. I could tell without asking, I was the first to ask, or care what had happened to him. But, honestly, I wouldn't blame him if he didn't want to share.

"It wasn't always like that, when I was younger," he began, his voice low and even. "I was relatively quiet. Not very open with those around me. More of a loner so to speak, but I was never bothered. But one day... this girl. Judy, I believe her name was, although it was so long ago it's hard to be sure. Her watch was somehow placed in my bag. Ban... he found it. No matter how much I convinced them, they wouldn't believe me when I said I didn't take it. Although, looking back, it's hard to see a reason why they should have believed me," he chuckled. "I was simply a nonsocial child with an expensive watch in my bag that I had no earthly idea how got there. Why believe me? Afterward, I was the subject of ridicule. The jester, the clown that everyone got their kicks by terrorizing each day.

"When they touched my drawings, though... I couldn't take much anymore. Watching Ban grab my notebook, tearing the pages out one by one," he growled, his eyes narrowed, full of hatred. "That was the first day I fought back. But back then... a young boy... I was as threatening as a chihuahua," he chuckled. "Not to mention how everyone joined in. Not much of a fair fight. Afterward, I just decided to accept my fate, for there didn't appear to be anything that could change it. Until one night, I got a message from a boy named Tom. He seemed to feel my pain, going through nearly the same torment beforehand. So, I finally thought I had someone; that I was no longer alone. Not too soon after, he wanted to meet on the roof of the school building. Shortly after I met him up there, he confessed that he had placed Judy's watch into my bag, so I would be the target of the trash of the school," he growled, shaking his head in anger. "But then... Tom had slipped on the edge, and fell from the roof. I tried... I tried to help him back up. But I wasn't strong enough to..." his voice trailed off, dead silence following after.

"People blamed me, of course. That just made the ridicule all the more amusing for them, and painful for me. And then, like I told you, I snapped. I broke. I shattered. And I was done with every last one of them. Much sloppier than I do today, I slaughtered each one, one at a time. By a months time, I had gotten rid of every last one of my enemies. I had discovered how to avoid the police, how to hide in the shadows. How to kill. But the thing is, none knew who it was. They thought that Helen Otis had run away in shame over what he had done. This 'Bloody Painter' was just a serial killer on the run, gutting each person throughout the town that he found fit. Never was he found for five years. And as the time passes, the more know of me. Not to mention how many more will die in my hands," he finished, his voice trailing off, seeming to melt away in the air.

I stared at him, my heart thumping painfully hard in my chest. I ached to reach out, and comfort this broken man in front of me. But... I wasn't too sure how well he would react to that. So I stayed still, his words still ringing in my head. It felt like they were swirling around my brain like a tornado as I tried to take it all in.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, my eyes glued to the floor, refusing to move. "They got what they deserved," I nodded, mainly speaking to myself. "But still. You shouldn't have had to go through all of that. Especially at a young age... you know I understand," I whispered, pursing my lips.

"Of course I do. Why else would I be here, reciting my story to you? I saw you. I saw you through that window, and I just knew I couldn't kill you. There was something different. Then, the next day, watching you at school... it brought back so many memories. So many feelings that had been covered up and forgotten for years. So why should I make you a victim, when you were just like me? Such potential. Only now, I believe it's not just for the potential in you. In a way... I believe we are helping each other, don't you agree?" he asked, folding his fingers over his lap.

I nodded in agreement, laying down the paint brush. "Yes, I agree. I'm glad you found me, Helen," I whispered, looking up at him once more.

I offered a small smile, and I knew, even though I couldn't see it... he smiled back.

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